War Worn
by Socrates7727
Summary: After a year or so, everything just sort of hit Derek. The blood on his claws, the bodies tossed into a pile with billowing smoke pouring from between them, the guts and brains spread throughout the hallways of the old high school. It was too much. He moved away, up to Oregon in a small town an hour or so away from Portland... He didn't expect anyone to ever come looking for him.


AN I don't own Teen Wolf of any of its characters! Just short Hurt/Comfort fluff!

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After a year or so, everything just sort of hit Derek. The blood on his claws, the bodies tossed into a pile with billowing smoke pouring from between them, the guts and brains spread throughout the hallways of the old high school. It was too much. He moved away, up to Oregon in a small town an hour or so away from Portland. He didn't tell anyone he was leaving or why. They didn't really care. He ditched his phone twenty miles onto the highway and smashed it to pieces at a rest stop for good measure. No one had texted or called, though. He just up and left one day, not in the blanket of darkness or in secrecy but in broad daylight, and no one batted an eye. For two days he just drove. He stopped when he felt like he couldn't breathe and floored it when it felt like ghosts were catching up to him. When it got dark he slept in his car and pretended not to care that he wasn't tired. He was always tired.

He holed up in a small town, big enough they left him alone but small enough there was only one grocery store and no neighbors. He got a job at the local hardware store even though he didn't need the money. His name was Derek, just Derek, because all anyone had ever called him was Hale. On forms he put Jefferson but it was clearly a lie. Saul was the owner of the hardware store and Derek grew to like him. Not just because he paid him but because he was old with a war-weathered face and he didn't ask questions except if Derek had restocked the saw blades recently because Ron was coming into the shop for one later that day. When they were alone for long periods of time Saul would sit behind the counter and, instead of questioning Derek, he would tell him stories from his life and Derek liked to listen. It was distracting.

He rented a small house just inside the towns limits. The floors were cheap carpet and the walls were a pale yellow but he installed the locks and sigils he had brought from Beacon Hills and he didn't care. His job was simple. The money was good. Every other Sunday he went into the local Walmart and bought groceries. Sometimes he bought a new flannel or a pair of thick socks for when the mist set it.

What he didn't do was think about Beacon Hills. Or any of the people he left behind. He didn't want or expect to see any of them again, and he doubted that he ever would. That was fine with him. He couldn't look at any of them without that panic setting into his chest. Scott always morphed into Boyd, skewered on Derek's claws and collapsed in the moments before death, oozing blood onto Derek's hands. Isaac was better, but not by much. If Derek looked at him too long, he started to get a frazzled look that quickly cascaded into the terrified mess of a human being he'd been when Derek had pulled him from that freezer, hands covered in blood from trying to claw his way out and eyes wide and crazed. Lydia always had Peter on her shoulder, just behind her, whispering in her ear even when they were alone. Kira looked like Allison. They were all just reminders of how badly he'd fucked up, how many people he'd hurt, and he hated to even picture them now. He never planned to see them again, so what did it matter if he forgot their faces?

Until he was working in the hardware store helping Mrs. Leighlin pick out a bracket for her new hummingbird feeder, recommending this size over that size, and the bell rang. There weren't supposed to be any deliveries so Derek ignored it, figuring the customer would help themselves or find him because most people knew the routine by now, and continued explaining L brackets to Mrs. Leighlin.

Until a person passed by the end of the aisle. He was in a sweatshirt, with the hood flipped up and the material pulled tightly around him. The mark of an outsider, the mist drove the chill straight into his bones. It was improbable-if not impossible-but the figure darted down the next aisle before Derek could even do a double take. He was wrong, he had to be. But, for a second, he was sure he recognized pale brown eyes and pale porcelain skin beneath that red sweatshirt. But it couldn't be. Stiles was back in that place with all the others or off at college somewhere or anywhere really but he wasn't there, in the one town Derek had managed to find refuge in.

Derek helped Mrs. Leighlin check out and explained again how to fasten the bracket into the cement siding. She would do it wrong, he already knew, and call him or Saul out to fix it the next day-not because she was incompetent but because she was lonely. She left, the bell dinging above the door. Derek waited at the counter because he didn't want to indulge his paranoia. Saul came back and discussed duct tape patterns with the customer, but the other man's voice was too soft to hear over the radio playing overhead. Saul approached with him and set two rolls of camouflage duct tape on the counter, asking Derek to ring them up and still chatting away with the customer. Derek didn't look up. He rung up the purchase and handed over the bag without looking up.

"Eleven seventy three" he said quietly, but exact change was already on the counter. Saul kept talking but Derek couldn't hear him. He heard the other heartbeat. Normally he tried to ignore his wolf and his abilities as much as he could because he wanted to be normal. He was normal. But he had to look up, some social norm or expectation pushed him too, and when he did he knew exactly why it felt like his stomach was in his throat. Why the heartbeat sounded so familiar but so distant in his memory. Stiles was standing there, holding his camouflage duct tape, listening to Saul but looking at Derek. He didn't look surprised, or even concerned. He didn't ask any questions or demand answers or even say anything. He nodded once to Derek, his face a new kind of tired that Derek really didn't like, and turned back to Saul.

"Where ya staying, kid? Up at Beatrice's place I suppose."

"Up at the sandcastle, yeah." Stiles answered, politely but reservedly. And then Stiles left. Derek heard the bell above the door ding. He couldn't breathe. That hadn't just happened-it couldn't have. There was no way. He went home that night reeling and triple checked all the locks before going to bed.

* * *

He didn't see Stiles again and he assumed he had imagined it. He briefly considered asking Saul if he remembered the customer staying at the sandcastle or what he looked like but Saul's memory only lasted through the nineties before it became unreliable. Derek counted it as a fluke. Until he saw Stiles on Sunday, in the nearly empty Walmart. Derek went shopping on Sunday mornings because most of the town was usually at church and it was less crowded. People made him anxious. But Stiles was there, picking out ramen flavors from the shelf that never moved or changed.

"Hey Derek! Got some new pastas in the back all the way from the city that I thought you might like." Mildred was young and exactly the opposite of what one pictured a Mildred to be like but she was chipper and loud which was enough for her voice to carry over to Stiles. Derek nodded to her in thanks but he noticed when Stiles head flicked up at his name. He went straight to the back, hoping that Stiles would leave quickly so he could just go back to normal. But, by the time he'd gathered all the groceries he could without wandering toward the front of the store, he couldn't avoid that aisle. And Stiles was still there. He was perusing the three different kinds of boxed mac and cheese the store sold. Stiles had never approached Derek or spoken to him but the anxiety was weighing on Derek like a boulder. He walked up to Stiles.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles shrugged, not looking up from his mac and cheese.

"What is anyone ever doing anywhere?" Derek glared. This was not the kind of situation that called for being quixotic and Derek was not in the mood.

"I don't care what went wrong I'm not coming back." Again Stiles just ran his fingers over the brightly colored cardboard boxes.

"I'm not asking you to." Derek swallowed hard. He hadn't expected to get this far.

"How did you find me." It wasn't a question but Stiles didn't balk and his heartrate didn't change.

"I didn't plan to. Just needed duct tape." Derek wanted to ask if the others were there too or if they'd sent him or something but he didn't want to talk about that place or those people. He didn't want to think about them.

"Are you staying in town?" Stiles shrugged, finally choosing the blueish box of mac and cheese and sliding it into his basket.

"Haven't decided yet." And then Stiles walked away. Again. Derek started after him, confused more than anything, and rushed to checkout and leave. What the hell?

* * *

Stiles prayed that Derek couldn't hear his heartrate. He'd practiced for months keeping it steady on the off chance he ran into Derek. He hadn't been lying when he said he hadn't planned on finding Derek. He hadn't. But, oh, how he'd hoped. He forced himself to walk away and keep the distance even when every piece of him screamed to run to Derek, to wrap his arms around him so tight it would put him back together and bury his face in his chest because _finally_. Finally he'd found him.

But Derek had run for a reason, he reminded himself. He needed space and time and, from the sunken look on Derek's face, it'd been long enough. But Stiles wasn't going to push it. He'd been waiting and planning for a very long time and he wasn't going to screw it up just because he got too excited or too comfortable with Derek too fast. He wasn't. Not after everything that had happened.

* * *

Derek didn't ask about the others. Stiles didn't come into his work again or make sure to be at the store when Derek was. Derek ran into him once or twice just on the street, walking. Stiles didn't say anything just nodded his head. Finally Derek couldn't take it anymore. He drove up to the sandcastle inn.

He talked to Beatrice and asked about her grandkids. Then he asked about the out of towner staying in one of her rooms. She was happy to direct him. Room 7, first floor. Derek approached and knocked without realizing what he was doing. Stiles opened the door in sweats and a t shirt with a bowl of cereal in one hand. He paused, but didn't hesitate, before motioning for Derek to come in.

Stiles offered him tea or coffee and talked about the tea and a tea shop he visited in Arkansas last summer that sold the best vanilla lavender tea he never found anywhere else but Derek finally just blurted out:

"What are you doing here, really?" Stiles stopped his rambling and sat at the table across from Derek, taking his mug into his hands. He sighed. Derek felt like this was it-this was when the explanation of how everything went wrong and how desperately they needed Derek back was supposed to come. But Stiles just stared at the mug in his hands.

"Truthfully, I didn't find you by accident." Derek flinched, gripping the mug a little harder than he should have been even though he already knew. It still felt like his fantasy had been ripped away from him.

"But I didn't come here because they sent me, or because we desperately need you to do something. I didn't come to drag you back with me. I didn't come to update you or tell you someone is trying to kill everyone again. I honestly didn't even come to talk to you." Derek felt himself stiffening, guarding against the invisible sting of all those insinuations.

"Then why _did_ you come?" It wasn't like Stiles to be so roundabout and vague in his answer. It made Derek uneasy. Stiles sighed again, heavier.

"I don't know… things were fine after you left, I mean more and more people died and tried to kill us but that was what fine was to us. We didn't look for you. Deaton said to give you space but…" Suddenly, Stiles laughed.

"I practiced saying this for months in case I ever found you but it all sounds so stupid now. Things happened, people died, new people took their place. Same old Beacon Hills. I can tell that you're thinking I got sick of the death and the danger I can see it in your face but I didn't. It wasn't fun but it was home. To be completely honest, the longer you were gone the more it started to feel like something was missing. I know you never even liked me and it's ridiculous but there was nothing but time and the more I thought… the more I realized how connected to you I felt." Stiles chewed his lip picking his words very carefully as he swirled the tea in his mug.

"It sounds so stupid out loud," he finally muttered, his voice shaking. "With you gone... I just felt empty. The others were just bandaids over the seeping wound that became your absence. I don't know why. I'm sure it sounds ridiculous because it is but.. I was just so tired of feeling empty. I thought seeing you, knowing you were okay, would help." Derek surprised himself by straightening in the chair.

"Did it?" He heard his voice but didn't remember opening his mouth. Stiles stared at him in shock, his face stuttering between confusion and disbelief that Derek was going along with this.

"I mean, yeah? I guess. Some at least. This probably isn't what you want to hear but sitting here with you is probably the most complete I've felt since you left." Derek just nodded, trying to process and comprehend what was happening. He noticed the pinch around Stiles eyes and the sunken bags beneath them. Had he done that to Stiles?

"Do you want to come stay with me? It's not amazing but its it's better than here. And you don't have to deal with Beatrice." Stiles was close to tears, but he nodded. Derek watched as he slowly packed the few clothes he had into a backpack in the bed and checked out. Together, they drove to his place across town. When they were inside and Stiles had blankets on the couch, Derek stopped.

"What?" Stiles gave him a confused look. "You look like you want to say something. What is it?" Stiles choked back something like tears of a cough. Three years, and he still hadn't gotten any better at hiding when he was upset.

"I don't want to push boundaries and I don't want to make you uncomfortable which i'm sure you already are but-"

"Just say it."

"Can I please hug you? Please don't ask why." Derek nodded, not controlling his own body anymore.

"Really?" Stiles sounded shocked, as if that was the last thing he had expected to happen. Derek nodded again. Suddenly Stiles was up and in his arms, squeezing him in a tight hug and hiding his face in Derek's shirt. Derek tensed but it was familiar and he was able to relax strangely quickly. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, hugging him back and pulling him to his chest with ease. Stiles was shaking. His heartbeat was frantic and overwhelmed with emotion it made Derek's chest ache. He felt himself relax into the hug, resting his cheek against Stiles hair.

And then Stiles was crying. It wasn't silent graceful tears it was sobbing and snot but Derek didn't care. Because he understood. All this time he'd felt unsettled in his core and he thought it was because of his past and that place but here with Stiles it melted away. Maybe it was the comfort of an old friend or the honesty of the conversation even because he was lonely but he felt good. Relieved. And he felt tears on his cheeks too. He understood. Here with Stiles he didn't feel blood dripping from his hands or the anger seizing his body. He felt calm. Emotional, but in a long overdue way. He felt whole again. He didn't care to try to understand why or to question it. He just held onto Stiles for dear life.

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